we skipped
past
tomorrows yesterday


that would make today


delusional

like

we
skipped
?












...
..
.

your curtains were walls
the lights shined
on
you
tears
as
beautifully
placed water falls
your curtains
we're
your walls
?
...
..
.

ok we promise
our next
dream
write
will
be
for you


ok


we promise
?












...
..
.

**** doesn’t always hide
At parties and outside clubs
**** doesn’t always hide
In dark alleys and empty parking lots
Sometimes it is right in front of you
But you choose to look the other way
**** doesn’t always hide
Behind the faces of strangers in the night
Sometimes it is hiding behind the closed doors
Of your uncles
Cousins
Fathers
And brothers
**** isn’t always loud-
Screaming, yelling, and crying
Sometimes **** is quiet-
Gasping for air and silent tears

i want you to know
that i'm sad
but i'm afraid
you'll leave me
after seeing this
much wreckage.

i used to have
lungs for breathing
but now they're cathedrals
of the echoing air
i don't want to
breathe in any longer

i used to have
a heart that lived
but now is filled
with sand and poison
i wonder how
i could still feel
my heartbeat

so if you don't mean it

please
don't tell me you love me
don't admire the
hand painted ceilings
starting to peel off
because it's still "******* beautiful"

stop calling me beautiful at all.
stop seeing the ocean in my eyes.
stop kissing me as if
you feel resurrected everytime
i whisper your name on your lips.

and please
if you don't mean it
don't put your head on
my chest
and tell me
you've never heard
of anything more
magnificent and
a l i v e

When he finally asks what’s wrong, tell him that he’s really just too good for you and you're afraid that one day he’ll wake up and realize that he could sleep with so many better women.
When he leaves the apartment and gets in the back of a taxi cab at two in the morning, don't follow him.
Maybe even though you saw him with another woman, laughing and joking in a smoky bar with their heads held close together, you still think you have a shot with him.
You don’t.

Dress yourself up if for no other reason than making yourself feel good. Put on your tightest, tiniest little black dress and some high heels and have a dance party in your own room with the stereo blasting.
Throw away his photos. Delete his texts, crumple up his notes and slot them into the paper shredder like old credit cards.
Thinking about him is dangerous; do not lie in bed in a quivering heap for days at a time. Do not mope or hit the snooze button simply so you can drift off to sleep and dream about him.
Jump in the shower and wash him out of your hair. Scrub your skin raw until you cannot smell him anymore. Wash your sheets. As you take them out of the dryer, practice saying your first and last name with adding his on.

Wreck your journal. This is the required “fresh start” your best friend told you about on New Years. She is tough and practical. Consider being more like her. Decide against it because having an affair with your husbands best friend is not practical.
Let your thoughts flow into questions that you pose to the world. Tell yourself that this is not an unfortunate habit.
Remind yourself that today in the modern world, if you’re single, that doesn't mean you’re missing “your other half.”  There isn't someone else out there running around with two arms and two legs and one head who used to be attached to one side of your body and will eventually find you again, on the street or in a deli or even at an indie rock concert in the back row; there’s just you. An imperfectly perfect human being who likes coffee or maybe hates it and has said awful, regrettable things to somebody else and is still trying to figure out how this whole life thing works.

When you are on the couch of your living room, do not reach out to squeeze the faces in the smoke you blow; do not think of his face. Reach out and draw the lines in your mothers face. She would have wanted you to.

As an artist I should love all colors.
As a boy I cannot love them all.
Browns
Blues
Purples
are colors I know too well.
They're the colors of bad days
And long nights.
They lead to tear stained pillows
and sleepless nights.
They’re the imprints of his rings against my skin
and his slurred words in my ears.
They’re a reminder that my father
isn’t a dad.